


The Coward's Choice

by ssfemship



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Frankie's POV, One Shot, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 12:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssfemship/pseuds/ssfemship
Summary: The world seemed so much smaller in Santa Fe, even with the gorgeous mountain view she could see from her favorite meditating rock in Jacob's yard.





	The Coward's Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my two beta readers: sadieflood and veroniquemagique for helping make this fanfic more readable than my last, and for being patient with my stubborn need to keep certain images in even if I need to rework them over and over.

The world seemed so much smaller in Santa Fe...

 

The world seemed so much smaller in Santa Fe, even with the gorgeous mountain view she could see from her favorite meditating rock in Jacob's yard. She could never call it their yard, no matter how many times he corrected her. The air was different here, too. Despite the locals and their free spirits, Frankie felt that her spirit had never resembled a pre-flight Jonathan Livingston Seagull more.

She knew she had made the coward's choice.

The first week was all right, everything was new and exciting, but by the second week the reality of what was missing began to sink in: a golden head of hair and the scent of power cologne.

She took another drag of Jacob's new strand of pot, but it wasn't keeping her calm at all. Every bit of stardust that wove Frankie Bergstein together was yearning for home, for popped collars and arguments about Del Taco's closing time, for moments when a simple compliment shook her world, and for being able to make Grace Hanson laugh.  Grace’s smile alone was the most radiant thing she'd ever seen. She internally kicked herself for not painting it while she had the chance; instead, she’d painted that horrible revenge piece.

She sighed and allowed herself to indulge in wondering about Grace for a moment. Was she nursing a dry martini with a few green olives on a stick that she let soak so long that they no longer tasted like olives? Was she missing Frankie, too, or was she really as relieved to have a clean kitchen and the shower to herself as she’d tried to convince Frankie she was the last time they spoke?

Frankie wasn't too sure about that; she knew she’d heard something on that call, a hitch in Grace’s breath when Frankie mentioned missing her, followed by the sound of a some deep existential divide between them growing (yes, Frankie could hear these things), and, of course, walls being reinforced into their original positions.  As quickly as she’d heard it, stoic silence was back, and then a _click_.  Frankie hadn’t attempted to reopen the lines of communication after that.

That was also a coward's choice. She knew the only way to open up Grace Hanson was with a wrecking ball, followed by a slow and gentle covering of meditation tapestries to the affected area, so it wasn't completely exposed to the elements but still able to breathe. The only one who could do that was Frankie.

She was letting Grace down, too.

She hadn't even realized that she was crying until she went back to the house and saw Jacob's face.

He was chopping carrots and dropped the knife he was using on the counter at the sight of her, then crossed the room to place his strong hands on her shoulders. "Frankie, what is it?"

 

After seeing the deep concern in his big brown eyes, a sob escaped her throat.

"Oh, Jacob." Her next words came out feeling like chipped glass on her tongue. "I love you."

He smiled, but his eyes were filled with sorrow.  "There's a but, isn't there?"

She exhaled and whispered, "A huge one."

"It's Grace, isn't it?" At her nod, he closed his eyes. "I should have seen this coming. You haven't been happy here, and the way she was forcing herself between us at the hospital, her jealousy about the condoms… Okay,” he sighed. "I'm not one hold onto someone who wants to be free."

"Jacob… I'm sorry."

"I know you are.”

"I mean, I need to leave now. I can't stay here a moment longer. She needs me." _I need her._

"Of course she does,” he said.   _Anyone would._  “However, you can't leave tonight.  The trains don't run this late. I can't drive for twelve or thirteen hours, I’ve had two joints already.  And Grace would probably murder me if I put you on a plane in your condition.”

"I can handle her," Frankie scoffed.

He paused.  “I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"Jacob, I'll never forgive myself if I don't leave. My conscience is plaguing me."

"I'll find you a train for the morning.  The first one out, okay?"

"Okay,” she said, resigned.  “I really am sorry."

" Don't worry about me; look after yourself. Better yet, promise me you'll let Grace take care of you. I can at least trust her to do that for me."

"You’re assuming she wants to, or that she'll even take me back."

He chuckled. "She’s an idiot if she doesn’t.   Now go pack, and leave me to pretend I’m cutting onions.”

 

* * *

 

Frankie lay awake that entire night on Jacob's outdoor couch, staring at the stars, her small bag of essentials by her bare feet. Inside the bag she’d packed her blood pressure cuff, her geodes, her meditation bowl, a change of clothes, souvenirs for her sons, and a silk scarf for Grace that she bought her first day in Santa Fe. She was beginning to feel like a bona fide dumbass, but at least she’d finally realized her gross error in judgement.

She'd see Grace again. That thought alone kept her awake; it started her heart racing, and it didn't let up until she was finally on the train, at which point she promptly passed out, exhausted.

If it wasn't for the alarms Grace had programmed into her phone, which she couldn't figure out how to remove anyway, she wouldn't have gotten up to get all her little walks in during the trip. Even from far away, Grace was still the one Frankie would always need.

 

* * *

Coyote picked her up. He assured her that he’d followed her instructions regarding who was allowed to know she was coming: only himself and Bud. She insisted that Grace could not find out from someone else or over the phone, and she only trusted her sons to keep that secret for her.  He agreed with her that it was better Grace find out in person.

They stopped a few times so she could stretch her legs, but she also made him stop at the CVS so she could grab deodorant, which she vigorously rubbed on her hands over and over, until they arrived at the beach house. The train ride had been twelve hours and they would have gotten to the house at around eleven if Frankie hadn’t needed to check every aisle of CVS a few times to make sure she didn't forget anything. Instead, they arrived at one-thirty in the morning. All the lights were off in the house.  

Coyote slipped his mother the key to her studio, which he’d stolen earlier that day.  She promised him one more time that she'd never ask him to go back to bad habits.

"It was an emergency," he said. "I get it, mom, we've all been worried about Grace. She's been refusing to see anyone, even Mallory."

Frankie shut her eyes tight as tears spilled out of them. "It was my fault," she said. "I was a coward."

Since he couldn't argue with her, he said, "You're here now, that's all that matters. You can make it right. It's going to be okay, Mom. I promise."

 

* * *

It was because of her son's faith that she was able to muster the courage to open the car door, get her suitcase, and walk up the back steps that led up to her studio.

When she reached the door, she felt the divine spiral of her breath stop behind her tongue. Through the windows, she saw Grace, curled up like a precious kitten on her pull-out couch.   She also seemed to be clutching the stuffed animal Frankie had attempted to knit for one of Mallory's kids, she couldn't remember which one.  Mallory had sent it back; looking at it now, Frankie could admit that it was a creepy looking thing, green with a purple sweater and two lopsided eyes, one bunny's ear and one of a bear.  

She took the key out of her pocket and fumbled to get a good grip on it before she slid it into the lock. She took another steadying breath before she turned the knob.  

The second she heard the sound of the key in the lock, Grace stirred.

When the door closed behind Frankie, Grace's eyes opened.

"Frankie?" Her voice was coarse and broken, but the end of Frankie’s name was laced with hope, and Frankie’s heart broke for her.

She pressed her back to the closed door in an effort to stay upright as Grace rushed at her like a gust of fall wind designed specifically to knock Frankie over.

Grace's hands were everywhere, suddenly. "You're here?" she said, her voice wobbling like a babushka doll.  

"I'm... yeah," Frankie cleared her throat. "I'm… I think, I mean, I--"

Grace jabbed a finger at her chest. "Don't you dare do that to me again," she snarled. Then she said, voice wavering, "Don't ever leave me again."

Frankie caressed Grace's tear-stained face with her long fingers. "Grace, I promise," she said. "I will never leave you again."

"Good," Grace said.

Frankie sealed her promise with a kiss to Grace's trembling lips. Grace instantly sank into the kiss, seeming to let go of a deep tension she must have been carrying for those two weeks. Frankie realized that she melted into it just as much.

When they pulled apart, Grace slipped her hand into Frankie's and wove their fingers together.  Frankie gripped her hand tight, reiterating her promise, as Grace pulled her back to the couch.

"Wouldn't you rather sleep in your bed?"

Grace's eyes pleaded with Frankie not to force her to answer, though she answered anyway. "Frankie. I need..." She hesitated.  "I need to be sure you're real."

Frankie didn't say anything else until she slipped under the covers and Grace curled her back into Frankie. Frankie wrapped her arm around Grace's waist, but she could still hear her sniffling.

"Grace, I--"

"No."

"No?"

"No. I get to say it first."

"Oh, yeah? You're so sure of what I'm going to say?"

"I get to say it first,” she insisted.

"Okay, but let the record show this is under protest."

"Noted. Frankie...”  She paused, then said quietly: “I never met anyone quite like you--"

"Certainly not!"

"Please, don't interrupt."

" Sorry, sorry.” She patted Grace’s waist. “Continue."

"You--you made me face my biggest fears head on. I started feeling again after decades of comfortable numbness… I resented you for that. You made me fall in love with you."

"Hold on.  I made you?" Frankie shifted and peered over Grace’s shoulder so she could see her face better.

"You couldn't help it, but it's still your fault. What I'm trying to say is…” Grace hid her face in the pillow, and Frankie could hardly hear what she said next. “If you leave me again, I don't know if I can survive it."

"No. Stop it," Frankie said. "I made you a promise; I won't break it. Besides, I'm coo coo ca choo for you too. "

"Frankie, please, use your words. I need to hear them."

"Okay. I, Frankie Bergstein, artist and friend to all, love--truly, madly, deeply love you, Grace Hanson, the frustrating and beautiful."

"There,” Grace said, and Frankie could hear her smiling, “was that so hard?"

"Well, you went first, and sort of stole the beautiful declaration moment I'd been planning on the train, so I had to improvise and it was actually a _little_ hard."

Grace scoffed, but was silenced when Frankie pulled her in even closer, and kissed her bare shoulder.  

After a few quiet moments, they both fell asleep, exhausted and relieved.

It turned out to be the best night’s sleep either of them had in forty years.


End file.
